The Long Arm of the Law
by mamapranayama
Summary: After escaping from prison, Sam and Dean find themselves with nowhere to run except for a place neither one of them ever wanted to see again. Set just after 'Folsom Prison Blues' with flashbacks to 17YO Sam and 21YO Dean. Hurt!Sam, Awesome!Dean. Complete.
1. Prologue

Summary: After escaping from prison, Sam and Dean have no where to run except for a place neither one of them ever hoped to see again. Set just after 'Folsom Prison Blues' with flashbacks to a 17 year old Sam and 21 year old Dean. Hurt!Sam, Protective!Dean

A/N: This story is something that I wasn't sure was worth posting or not, so I kinda let it sit around in my computer files for months on end without letting it see the light of day. However, I spent so damn long writing this that I finally decided to go back to it and polish it up some.

**The Long Arm of the Law**

_**Prologue**_

"He still back there?" Dean asked, his brows furrowed into a deep 'V' as he concentrated on the road ahead of them.

"Yeah … Step on it!" Sam exclaimed quickly while looking back at the flashing lights gaining on them, trying not to sound as desperately nervous as he felt.

"Dammit … " Dean muttered angrily, flooring the accelerator, pushing the limits of the muscle car's engine as she roared down the dark highway. "Who'd have thunk that Barney Fife back there would be the one to tag us?... Damn redneck sherrifs."

"We did just break out of prison, Dean. I'm sure every cop in the state has us on their radar."

"Thanks for the update, Sam." Dean shot back sarcasticlaly, driving even faster.

Sure, getting arrested, sent to jail and then breaking out again hadn't been hard - they had Deacon to thank for that. However, despite the fact that they had been cautious and took back roads instead of the interstates to avoid being detected since their great escape, it had only taken one cop actually doing his job to ruin their day and their perfect getaway. And as soon as that cop car had pulled up behind them and turned on its lights, they knew they couldn't stop – they wouldn't be so lucky to both be sent back to the same prison again - they had to make a run for it.

"We're only a few miles from the border to Missouri - they won't have jurisdiction there." Sam hoped that meant they'd be in the clear once they crossed the state line.

"Doesn't mean they won't call their cop buddies over there to join in on the fun."

Dean tore his eyes from the road and chanced a looked over at Sam for the briefest of moments and saw the unease in his brother's eyes that reflected the same churning in his gut.

They were so screwed … again.

"Dean!" Sam suddenly shouted, pointing out the window. "Road block!"

Dean's head and eyes snapped back to the road and his hopes of making a clean getaway dropped even further.

"Crap! Crap! Crap!" Dean muttered. Maybe running away to Yemen wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

Up ahead, twin lights flashed on the top of a patrol car, blocking the road lengthwise in a last-ditch effort to stop the two fugitives before they could escape into the next state. On the right side of the highway lay an extremely deep drop-off leading to a creek bed while on the other side, the shoulder broke off into a wide ditch. Going around wasn't going to be easy, but it was their only hope.

"Hold on!" He floored the accelerator. The speedometer needle jumped in response, hovering past 90 MPH.

"Dean!" Sam cried out as he grasped the dashboard.

"I know what I'm doing, Sam." Dean snapped, his eyes narrowing.

"Really? 'cause it looks an awful lot like you're gonna ram the guy."

"Shut up, I'm driving." Dean growled back at his brother's assessment. He could do this … probably.

As the car barreled down the road towards the cop car, the officer jumped out of the vehicle and stood in front of it, quickly drawing out his handgun and aiming it towards the Impala bearing down on him.

"Deeeeannnn" Sam warned, his knuckles whitening as he held on for dear life to the dash. They came closer and closer almost to the point where they could both see the sweat on the nervous officer's brow and the shake of the gun in his hand.

_Pop! Pop! Pop!_

The barrel of the officer's gun exploded outward, sending bullets into the grill of the car and ricocheting off in a shower of sparks. Sam ducked and covered his head while the bullets kept flying at them. Dean held steady, putting all of his concentration into steering while the officer continued to lay down fire until losing this game of chicken and jumping out of the way.

Impact with the side of the patrol car was almost a sure thing until Dean yanked the wheel hard to the left.

Time seemed to slow down even as Dean's heart continued to gallop at full speed. He braced himself for what would come next and yelled, "HANG ON!" to his brother.

The Impala's wheels squealed against the pavement. It drifted sideways moments before it became airborne, flying off of the shoulder of the road and over the embankment, landing front-end first into the ditch, and jarring its passengers. The car bounced twice before Dean could regain control over the wheel and send silent apologies to his car's suspension.

The engine roared after he mashed on the accelerator again and sharply pulled the steering wheel to the right, sending huge piles of sod and dirt up into the air as the tires spun on the ground and propelled the car forward and up the side of the ditch.

The car's tires hit the edge of the shoulder, fishtailing onto the asphalt before Dean could get the car going straight again, leaving the parked cruiser behind in a cloud of dirt and gravel.

"Whooooo!" Dean hollered in triumph, chancing a glance in to the rearview mirror and seeing the cop behind them throw his hat onto the ground in frustration just as they crossed the border into Missouri. "You see that, Sammy? We are totally the Dukes of Hazzard … damn … almost makes me wish we had a horn that plays Dixieland."

Dean turned, expecting Sam to give him a 'why-the- hell- did-you-just-risk- our-lives-on-such-a-stupid-stunt' kind of look. Instead, Sam was hunched over, still gripping the dash tightly with one hand.

"Hey, c'mon … you gotta admit that I'm pretty much the awseomest driver ever."

Sam still didn't respond.

Dean reached over and nudged Sam on the shoulder. "Hey … you okay?"

"Think I'm in trouble, Dean." Sam rasped then lifted his head. Though his face was mostly obscured by his long bangs, what could be seen of his face had turned a chalky shade of white. It was then that Dean finally noticed that the hand Sam wasn't holding onto the dashboard with was held tight to his right side.

"What the -" It was then that Dean saw red seeping between Sam's fingers. "Son of bitch … "

Dean immediately pulled over and started prying Sam's hand away from the growing splotch of blood. "Let me see, Sam."

Dean pulled Sam's hand away with little resistance revealing a small hole in Sam shirt, oozing blood into the surrounding fabric. "How the –" Dean then looked up and saw the same sized hole staring back at him through the passenger side door. "That bastard … he shot you?"

"Dean … it's okay, it's not that bad ..." Sam swatted Dean's hand away. "We gotta keep going. We can't stop here … not now. The cops here are probably already on their way."

"Not until we get this taken care of, Sam." Dean demanded, reaching into the back seat and grabbing the closest piece of fabric available which just happened to be one of the orange prison jumpsuits Sam and Dean had been wearing only a few hours ago.

"Dean … Give it to me … I got it. Just drive."

Dean gave his brother an 'are-you-crazy?' kind of look while Sam grabbed the jumpsuit and pressed it up against his side. "You know we can't go to a hospital and the more time we spend sitting here on the side of the road the more likely we are to get caught … so just drive." Sam demanded.

As much as all of Dean's instincts were screaming at him to take care of Sam, he knew as well that he was right. They had to keep going and get out of the state … heck maybe even the continent.

Dean gunned the engine once again and peeled out on the road. He didn't have a clue where to go, just that he had to get them there as fast as possible.

_To Be Continued ..._


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thanks to all of you out there that are reading this story and who have given me your thoughts on this so far. You all rock!  
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**A/N 2: **From this chapter on, all flashbacks will be in intalics.

**Chapter One**

Dean decided to just keep driving north, avoiding the interstates and any major cities, which wasn't too hard given the fact that this end of Missouri was about as heavily populated as the moon. At least he had gotten them a good distance from Arkansas and he hadn't seen a cop car since crossing the state line, yet still his senses were on high alert for any sign of law enforcement.

He glanced again over at his brother and felt a fresh wave of anxiety. Sam's eyes were drooping and his skin was a worrying shade of alabaster. "Hey … You aren't thinking of falling asleep on me here, are you?"

Dean's voice made Sam snap his eyes open. "N-no … I'm good."

"I'm stopping at the next motel I see." Dean decided firmly. Enough was enough. Sam needed to get that bullet out of him and patched back up.

Of course, Sam in all of his contrary glory had other ideas and shook his head. "They'll be expecting us to find a motel and there's probably a BOLO for us statewide. Besides … we don't have credit cards that the cops haven't already flagged and our cash is low. We gotta keep going until we find someplace where no one will look for us."

"Got any suggestions, Sammy? 'cause I'm fresh outta ideas here."

"Actually …" Sam let out a pained grunt as he shifted in his seat, "I was thinking … we could go to the cabin."

"What? We've stayed in about a billion cabins before, you're gonna have to be a little more specific here."

"Remember? Just after Christmas my senior year in high school - the cabin in the Ozarks. It's out in the middle of nowhere and it's not far. We'll be safe there." Dean must not have heard him correctly. Sam couldn't possibly be suggesting that.

"_That _cabin?"

"What other cabin in the Ozarks do you think I'm talking about?"

That was it. Sam must have completely lost his mind from blood loss. Dean shook his head vigorously, "No … no way … It's too far –"

"It should only take us a couple of hours to get to it."

"A couple of hours, Sam? You do realize that you're bleeding all over the place, right? We need to get you fixed up."

"I'm okay … "Sam insisted, but Dean knew he had to be in a lot of pain given the amount of sweat gathered on his brow. On top of that, Dean was not liking the color on his brother nor the way he tried to hide the shivering. "I don't think it's all that deep and it's mostly stopped bleeding. I can make it."

"This is stupid." Dean grumbled, taking his jacket off as he drove and handing it to his bleeding and shocky-looking, little brother. He had absolutely no desire to go back to that damned cabin.

Sam had a point however, even if Dean was loath to concede to it.

"Look … I know you don't want to go there." Sam read his mind, "Trust me, I'm not too thrilled with the idea either, but its got four walls and a roof and it's the closest, most secluded place I can think of. We can hide out there for a few days and figure out what to do next."

Sam leaned his head back on the seat as though exhausted by the short argument, his eyes blinking slowly as he pulled Dean's jacket up to his chin. Every instinct in Dean told him to find the nearest motel and put Sam back together right this very instant, but his little brother - pain in the ass that he was - was right – they didn't have the money or the luxury of finding a motel.

They had to go to the cabin.

"Alright … fine. We go to the cabin, but if you even think of passing out on me –"

"I won't." Sam cut in wearily, his words containing the hint of a slur. "Just drive."

Dean stomped on the gas and the engine roared in tune to his grumblings and misgivings about that lonesome cabin in the backwoods of Missouri.

That damned cabin ….

_December 27, 2000_

_ "Hey –" Dean reached over and slapped his sleeping brother over the back of the head … not hard, but hard enough to wake him from a peaceful nap with a sudden, and somewhat comic jolt. Sam was instantly awake, his hair sticking out in funny directions and looking about him in confusion, until his eyes hit Dean's and narrowed in annoyance._

_ "What was that for?"_

_"We're here."_

_Sam looked out the window and frowned. "Where the hell are we?"_

_"Missouri … I think? I dunno, I've just been following Dad."_

_"You know what this is all about?"_

_"No, not yet. Dad'll tell us when he's ready." Dean nodded towards the big, black truck parking in front of them._

_"It'd be nice if he shared with the rest of the class." Sam grumbled petulantly enough to make Dean sigh wearily. They hadn't even gotten out of the car to find out what Dad had in store for them and Sam was already voicing his discontent. Not that Dean was all that surprised, it seemed like Sam was hell bent on picking a fight with their father whenever he got the chance these days – yet still, it was tiresome trying to maintain the peace between those two. _

_And lately that was getting harder and harder to do, especially since Dad refused Sam's request to stay in Pennsylvania until his mid-term exams were taken after the Christmas break. Sam didn't seem to understand that the Christmas holidays weren't a vacation from hunting. In fact, they tended to be the busiest time of year for spooks next to Halloween and staying put in that little town after the last case wasn't an option when there were so many other jobs that needed looking into. _

_"Just play nice for once. I'm sure there's a good reason for us to out here in the middle of freaking Nowheresville."_

_Dean had to admit to certain amount of curiosity about where their father had led them. All explained to Dean before telling them both to pack up was to follow him. And Dean dutifully had followed the tail end of his father's truck for nearly 14 hours straight along winding back-highways and now to a seemingly deserted gravel road in the middle of the Ozark foothills, lined on both sides with thick stretches of trees._

_Dean saw the driver's side door of the truck open and his father step out and both brothers took that as their cue to exit the car. Sam climbed out and slammed his door with a little more force than was strictly necessary, causing Dean's nerves to fray a little. "Hey – watch the car, numbnuts."_

_Dean patted the roof of his car apologetically for his brother's rough treatment. "Sorry, Baby … Sammy's just being a little bitch, he doesn't mean it."_

_"Quit talking to the car, Dean." Sam muttered. "It's disturbing."_

_"And talking to you isn't?" Dean shot back and was lining up another zinger to hurl at Sam when Dad waved at them and beckoned them over._

_"Boys, get over here."_

_Dean hurried towards his father while Sam took a far less enthusiastic stride until he came up shoulder to shoulder with him._

_"What are we doing here?" Sam asked a little impatiently._

_John quirked a small grin, "Training," was all he offered in the way of an explanation._

_Sam might not have audibly groaned, but Dean knew by the way his brother's shoulders and jaw muscles tightened that he wasn't pleased with being left in the dark. "What kind of training?" Sam pushed for further info._

_John didn't answer right away; instead he went to the tailgate of his truck and opened it up, revealing the small arsenal of weapons he had stashed in there. He grabbed a rifle and a magazine, handing one wordlessly to Dean then repeated the exercise, handing a rifle to Sam as well._

_Dean's felt his eyebrows arch up his forehead. "We hunting something?"_

_"Yep." Dad replied, grabbing more items from the back of his truck. He pulled out two backpacks and thrust on into Dean's hands then the other one into Sam's._

_Dean wanted to know more about what was going on, but knew that his dad would give them the info they needed when he saw fit. Sam on the other hand, wasn't one for waiting._

_"What? This is a hunt?" Sam asked, "I thought we were supposed to be training." Dean could hear the irritation creeping into his brother's voice, but thankfully, Dad only shot Sam a glare that silenced his little brother without there being a big show down._

_Dad started to explain, keeping a scornful eye on his youngest. "Dean, I need you to drive the car about another mile up the road. You'll see a trailhead on the right. Park the car in the ditch near it and make sure it's concealed. You and Sam take the trail into the woods and you should find a cabin about a quarter of a mile in."_

_"And what do we do once we get there?" Sam pushed._

_"I'm getting to that Sam." Dad growled, his eyes narrowing on his youngest as he pointed to the packs he had given them, "Everything you two will need are in those packs."_

_Sam dug into his and frowned. "There's only water in this …"_

_"Exactly. The cabin out there is pretty bare and there hasn't been anyone in it for years, so you'll need to use those rifles to hunt, kill, and cook your own food."_

_Sam scowled openly. "What? So, this is a hunting_ _trip? As in real hunting? "_

_ "It's about time you boys hunted something other than ghosts and there's plenty of rabbit and deer out in these woods that you shouldn't go hungry." John grinned, almost gleefully at the shared looks of disappointment and growing disgust on his son's faces._

_"You mean we gotta eat Bambi and Thumper for dinner?" Dean didn't mind killing things … that wasn't the problem, in fact it could be kinda rewarding at times. However, he much preferred his meals to come from burger joints and pizza delivery boys. the thought of having to eat that which he just killed and skinned didn't fill him with an overwhelming thrill - he had far too many memories of Bobby dressing the animals he hunted in his backyard and feeding them to them for dinner for it to really be appealing._

_"It's only for a couple of days while I help out Caleb with another hunt. I'm sure you two can handle it and this'll be good training just in case you two find yourselves in a situation where you need to fend for yourselves without a McDonald's nearby. So, no cheating – no leaving the cabin for anything other than hunting and gathering firewood and no driving into town for take-out. Use of the car is strictly for emergencies, understood?"_

_"Yes, Sir." Dean replied quickly even as he frowned. He didn't voice how much he hated this idea, but he knew his father would be checking the odometer when he got back to make sure that he and Sam didn't leave the forest for a joyride, so he knew that they were going to be stuck out here and it was useless to argue. _

_Sam didn't seem to get the memo however, and pulled a classic and spectacular bitchface before speaking up. "So, that's it? You're just gonna leave us out here? What about helping you and Caleb?"_

_Dad's scowl deepened. "It's only a two-man job, Sam. And I have my reasons for sending you both out here. Now, I suggest you get with the program real quick before I change my mind about sending you back to school after the break."_

_Sam was taken aback, his face darkening. "What? You can't do that."_

_"You don't think so?" Dad straightened up to his full height, pushing himself into Sam's face. Sam may have shot up like a weed recently and now stood a full inch taller than their father, but that didn't stop Dad from appearing larger than life itself. "I'm your father Sam – I say what you do and what you don't do - You're almost eighteen – plenty old enough to leave school and focus more on the hunt like you should. You want to stay in school, then you will do as I say – am I clear?"_

_Sam's jaw worked furiously as he ground out a venomous, "Yessir."_

_Dean groaned internally. This was the same fight – over and over again. Dad thought Sam studied too much, causing him to fall behind on his hunting skills while Sam thought he didn't study enough and that hunting was holding him back from having a 'normal' life. Both of them were too stubborn to concede the others' points and it was always up to Dean to break the tension._

_Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder with a forced grin and a playfulness he didn't feel. "C'mon, Sammy. You, me, guns, and killing things all weekend? This'll be fun, eh? I'll even let you cook the first night."_

_Sam tore his gaze away from their father to give Dean a roll of his eyes and even Dad seemed to relax a little._

_"Why do I have to cook?"_

_"'Cause it's woman's work and you're the only one here." The face Sam gave Dean was priceless and with the tension now successfully broken, Dean grinned as his Dad backed off. _

_"I'll see you boys in a few days." Dad nodded towards them both before turning on his heel and walking back to his truck, never looking back. Dean watched until the big, black truck roared to life and peeled away from the two young men standing in front of the Impala._

_Dean turned towards his still irate, but resigned little brother who glared at the back end of the truck as it drove further and further away. _

_With his boot, Dean kicked Sam in the shin, eliciting a yelp, satisfied that his little tactic worked to tear Sam out of his dark mood._

_"Ow – jerk." Sam punched Dean across the shoulder in retribution which started a playful, spur- of- the- moment sparring match and ended with Dean getting the upper hand on his brother, holding him tight in a headlock. Even though Dean was older, more experienced and clearly the more awesome fighter of the two, Sam didn't back down and took him by surprise when he swept a foot around Dean's ankle and knocked him off balance, sending them both to the gravel and landing in a heap._

_Both panting and covered in dirt, they grinned and laughed at each other. Dean slapped Sam on the shoulder affectionately before standing and offering a hand out, pulling his little brother off of the ground. "C'mon, Sammy … can't sit around here all day, we got forest critters to kill. " _

_Despite his own misgivings about this little hunting adventure their Dad was sending them on, Dean plastered a smile on his face while grabbing his pack, "let's go find this damn cabin already."_

OOOOOO

Dean pulled the sleek, black car off the road and into the ditch, far enough into the trees where it would be difficult to see by any passersby's – if there even were any out this far into the forest.

He killed the engine and turned to Sam who, true to his word, had managed to not pass out before reaching their destination. However, Dean knew by the way his little brother sluggishly blinked that he was just barely maintaining consciousness. He reached out and touched Sam on the shoulder and his eyes opened a little wider, meeting Dean's.

"You gonna be able to walk?"

Sam nodded wearily and pushed himself up straighter as if to prove that he would be physically capable of the quarter-mile hike. However, the color drained even further from Sam's face and he wobbled unsteadily in his seat until Dean grabbed his bicep to keep him upright.

"Whoa … Hold on, Sam. Let me come around and help."

Normally, Dean would have expected an eye-roll or a whine about how Sam didn't need any help getting out of the car, but Sam was silent. He just bowed his head and nodded, clearly in too much pain and too woozy to put up any kind of a fight.

Dean was out of the car, quickly stopping by the trunk to fill a rucksack with weapons, the med kit, and other supplies before strapping it on securely to his back. He was at Sam's door a moment later, wrapping his arm under his brother's shoulder to help pull him out.

"Hang on to me." Dean ordered and Sam obeyed wearily, draping his arms across Dean's shoulders and hanging on loosely as Dean dug in his heels and hauled his little brother to his feet. Sam swayed a little, but managed to remain upright as long as Dean had a hold of him.

"You good to move?" Dean asked once he had Sam marginally steady.

"Yeah." Sam nodded breathlessly. With one arm under Sam's armpit and his other grabbing hold of the wrist dangling from his shoulder, Dean led them one step at a time towards the over-grown path that led to the lonely cabin buried in the woods. The trail was barely visible, even in the pale light coming down through the trees from the full moon and he wished over and over again that he had thought to take the flashlight. Over the years since they had last been here, it had become barely passable with fallen tree trunks and weeds obscuring the way, and Dean was careful to steer them around the obstacles, making the trek agonizingly slow. Sam was leaning more and more into him the further they went, causing sweat to bead on Dean's brow and drip into his eyes.

"Almost there." Dean encouraged his little brother to keep placing one gigantic foot over the other. Sam didn't answer, but kept his feet moving as a sign that he was still partially helping himself to walk. The last hundred feet were the hardest as he and Sam both were panting and sweating profusely, but hallelujah, the worn and ramshackle cabin started coming into view through the trees.

They almost made it through the door before Sam's legs completely gave out and Dean had his arms full with all of his floppy, little brother's 200 pounds.

"Oh crap …" Dean grunted under the sudden shift in weight. "Couldn't wait … 3 seconds … to pass out? " It took what little energy and strength Dean had left, but he managed to half-carry, half-drag Sam to the cot sitting across the tiny room and lay him out across it.

Dean started in on his assessment right away, starting with the ABC's of first aid just as his dad had taught him; first trying to see if he could get his brother awake.

"Sam? " Dean rubbed Sam's sternum with his knuckles and that thankfully, had an effect and his brother stirred, trying to swat dean's hand away.

Sam groaned and his eyes slid open, "gah …"

"Sorry … need you to stay with me here, Sammy. Gotta patch you up and get this bleeding stopped or I'm dragging you to the hospital, cops on our tail or not," Dean insisted, "but I for one would rather not go back to jail."

Sam blinked tiredly, but gave Dean a ghost of a smirk and a soft snort, "Really? You seemed …" Sam hissed as Dean pulled up his shirt to get a look at the damage. "Seemed to … like it."

Dean pulled the ruck off his back and started digging for the supplies he would need all the while trying to keep Sam engaged in conversation to distract him from the pain and keep him alert.

"Yeah, well … it's not that I really liked it, I just understand those guys, ya know? Besides, did you try that meatloaf – it was unforgettable."

"I'd rather not remember it actually." Sam retorted then sucked in another breath as Dean poured a good measure of alcohol over the hole in Sam's side and wiped away some of the blood so he could get a good look at the wound. It was bright red and puckered, but it wasn't bleeding much anymore and Dean didn't mind at all that Sam had been right this time when he said that it didn't seem so bad. All Dean had to do was get the bullet out and stitch him back up – piece of cake. The only problem was after that, infection would be their biggest worry since they didn't have anything stronger than antibiotic ointment in their med kit, but Dean figured they would cross that bridge when they got to it – he could only focus on one problem at a time.

"'Kay … s'not too bad. Just gotta pull that bullet out." Dean pulled out a pen knife from the med kit and carefully cleaned it off with more of the alcohol. He then raised his eyes and met Sam's. "You ready?"

"Not really –" Sam grimaced. "Just get it over with."

"Oh … I almost forgot. " Dean reached into the bag one more time and pulled out a bottle of amber-colored liquid and handed it over to Sam. "I got some of the good stuff – might help take some of the edge off."

Sam looked at the label askance. "You call Old Crow 'the good stuff'?"

"Okay, fine … just call it the 'good enough stuff' then – it works just the same."

"I hate whiskey – " Sam complained weakly as he unscrewed the cap then chugged a few mouthfuls. His face contorted in disgust and he coughed from the bitter taste of the bottom shelf liquor, but almost immediately, he appeared to relax a little, his eyes glazing a bit under its effects.

Dean got to work after that. He would never consider himself the best at makeshift, do-it-yourself surgery, especially when it was performed in a dirty cabin out in the middle of nowhere, but he would admit to a certain amount of pride on how quickly he managed to get that bullet out of Sam's flank. He was also proudly impressed how Sam handled it too, he grunted and hissed while Dean probed the wound, removed the bullet then stitched his little brother up, but never did he cry out, bearing the pain stoically. But then again, some of that may be due to the fact that his supposed whiskey-hating sibling had polished off a quarter of the bottle of Old Crow while he worked.

After one last dousing of the wound in alcohol, Dean placed a clean bandage over his handiwork and taped it up. "There – that should do it. Not bad sewing if I do say so myself and I think I could give Betsy Ross a run for her money. What do you think?"

Dean looked up when he didn't get a response and saw Sam's eyes had closed and his heart skipped a beat at first, thinking that his brother had lost consciousness, "Sam? Sammy?" He gently shook him.

"Stoppit - tryin' to sleep 'ere." Sam slurred drunkenly and Dean sighed. Despite his size, Sam was a lightweight when it came to alcohol.

"Fine … go back to sleep. I'll keep an eye out for anything."

Sam's eyes slid open and he glanced about the small confines of the cabin, "It's still the same …"

Dean himself made a quick scan of the place as well, taking in the broken furniture, the debris scattered about, the small kitchenette with all of its cabinet doors removed and he saw what Sam did, the place was just as they left it – a disaster.

"Yeah, "Dean agreed, "it's still same …"

OOOOOOOO

_"Ahhhh … home, crap home." _

_Sam stood shoulder to shoulder with Dean as the front door swung open. The tiny cabin was just where their father said it would be, but its presence was more than a little underwhelming. The interior sported a plain cot on one end, a dirty, blackened fireplace filled with soot, and a small kitchenette. The only other furnishing was a make-shift table made out of cinder blocks for the legs and a warped piece of plywood for the top._

_"It smells." Sam pointed out, not that Dean needed him to tell him that, the place reeked of musky, old gym socks._

_"'ya think?" Dean sighed and walked inside, dumping his pack on the rotting, wood floor. "It's freezing in here. Why don't you go get some wood so I can start a fire."_

_Sam sighed and walked in as well, closing the door behind him. "Why don't you get the wood and I start the fire?"_

_"Because I'm the oldest, that's why."_

_"You just like starting fires, you pyro."_

_"So? I'm good at it – you can't even figure out how to light a match half of the time."_

_Sam dumped his pack next to Dean and huffed. Dean knew that his brother wasn't happy with their current situation and he could almost feel the frustration building in him._

_"Doesn't this bug you - Dad just dumping us out here? Don't you ever get sick of him ordering us around like grunts?"_

_"Sam –" Dean sighed wearily. "Can't we go two minutes without you pissing and moaning about the man?"_

_"I'm just saying that we never get a say in anything."_

_"We don't need to have a say, got it? Dad knows what he's doing and if he says we park our asses in a rat-infested shack out in the middle of nowhere, then we do it."_

_"How can you just –"_

_"Can it, Sam." Dean cut him off, about to lose his mind with Sam's complaining. Yeah, being out there sucked balls, but there wasn't anything they could do about it. "Just get some wood, will ya?"_

_Sam twisted his face, annoyed, pissed and ready to burst with pent-up frustration. Dean expected him to blow at any second, but instead, Sam just shook his head and huffed, turning on his heels and storming out of the cabin._

_"Don't forget kindling –" Dean shouted after him._

OOOOO

Sam was fast asleep. Okay – passed out was more like it, but he was breathing evenly and peacefully, so Dean couldn't ask for more right at the moment.

Dean took that time to touch Sam on the forehead and check for any signs of fever. His skin was clammy and pale, and most likely a little on the shocky side, so Dean dug out the blanket he had shoved inside the pack and carefully tucked it around his brother. Sam stirred a little, but didn't wake, sinking back under the cover until he started snoring softly.

Figuring that Sam would be out for a while, Dean decided to use that time to run back to the car and stock up on supplies. The good thing about practically living out of the car was that it was chocked full of stuff and they had all they needed to survive in it. He dug through the trunk, gathering as much crap as he could carry – knives, guns, holy water, salt and an extra blanket. He also found the stash of Twinkies and candy bars he had hidden in the glove compartment and a few bottles of water from the back seat. All of this he bundled into the blanket and hauled back to the cabin.

This time while they were here, they wouldn't be caught off guard – this time if anything happened, he'd be ready for it.

OOOOOOO

_Dean burst through the door, proudly holding his prize in one hand and beating his chest in a manly display of machismo with the other. "Success! Fear not, brother – I come bearing dinner."_

_Surprised by the sudden entrance, Sam turned from the fire he had been stoking and turned around. To Dean's chagrin however, Sam merely cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed._

_"What is that - a rat?" Sam asked._

_Dean strode through the door, shutting it behind him to keep the cold, December air out of the cabin then waggled the small, woodland creature in his brother's face. "It's a rabbit, dumbass."_

_"That's not a rabbit, Dean – it's a bunny."_

_"Same difference."_

_"No … a rabbit is an adult – that thing is barely a baby – making it a bunny."_

_"So what? It's still edible."_

_"Barely."_

_"Shut up."_

_Dean placed the rabbit on the table. Okay, maybe it was a bunny and it was barely big enough to feed the two of them, but beggars couldn't be choosers and it took him two damned hours to catch the thing. It was almost as if even the animals didn't want to hang out around this place._

_ Abandoning his kill, he then headed for the fireplace, stretched out his arms and warmed his chilled fingers with the heat of the flames. _

_"Alright, Sammy - time to put all those hours of watching Martha Stewart to good use. Get cooking."_

_"You have to skin it first before I can cook it, Dean." Sam pointed out._

_"No … that's the cook's job."_

_"Whoever kills it, skins it."_

_"I just about froze my ass out there and I can barely feel my fingers – My job's done, so you skin it."_

_Sam sighed, but Dean knew he had won the argument and grinned as Sam headed for the table and the limp game lying upon it._

_His little brother grumbled as he pulled out his pocket knife and started in on preparing the bunny to be cooked. _

_"So – do anything useful while I was out?" Dean asked, ignoring the disgusted faces Sam pulled as he cut into the rabbit._

_"I did a little digging around the kitchen – there's not much, but I found a few things."_

_"Like what?" Dean asked, turning around so his ass could get as equally warmed as his fingers. Sam pointed towards the small counter top. A few cans and bottles sat on it and Dean left the warmth of the fire to satisfy his curiosity over what his brother had found._

_There wasn't much, just like Sam had said. There were a couple of dusty cans of peaches and beans that looked like they had been in the cabin since canning was first invented, there was also a jar of something – he wasn't sure what – that had been picked and preserved in a weird, greenish fluid. However, there was one thing that attracted Dean's attention right away and had him grinning from ear to ear. _

_It was the tall, glass bottle and it looked like it had never been opened. To Dean's utter joy, when he picked it up and tested the cap, he found that the seal was still intact – it was probably still good._

_"Oh man - I can't believe it – this was just left here?"_

_"Yeah – so?"_

_"So? This is an un-opened bottle of Glenfiddich 18 year old scotch, except by the looks of things; it's about 30 years old now."_

_"So? It's probably gone bad."_

_"Sammy … this stuff only gets better with age." Dean gave the cap a twist and broke the seal._

_"Don't tell me you're actually thinking about drinking that stuff."_

_In answer to his brother, Dean got the bottle open and grinned devilishly, "Finders keepers, loser's weepers." _

_He brought the bottle up to his lips and upended it, letting the strong alcohol slide down his throat and hit his stomach. He felt warmth spread from his belly, up to his head and down to his toes. _

_He smacked his lips appreciatively – that was some damn, fine liquor – way better than any of the usual rot gut he was used to._

_"Ahh – nectar of the Gods."_

_Sam wasn't impressed, "It's just whiskey."_

_"Here," Dean held the bottle out to his brother, "Try some – I promise I won't tell Dad."_

_Sam stopped him with a bloody hand, still scowling as he finished cleaning the rabbit, "I'll pass, thanks." _

_"You're such a prude."_

_"At least I'm a sober prude."_

_"C'mon … it's good stuff – it'll warm you right up. And it's just you and me out here, so we might as well have a little fun."_

_Sam shrugged, "I'm just not a big fan of whiskey." He explained, growing quieter, "So, just drop it, okay?"_

_"Why?" Dean asked, he didn't know of too many teens that would turn down a chance to get stupid drunk – but then again, his brother was weird and was nothing at all like Dean had been at his age._

_"Because – I don't see how it helps, Dean. You don't solve any problems or find anything good at the bottom of a bottle. It doesn't make all of the crap heaped you every day go away –all it does is get you drunk and make the people around you miserable. I don't want to be like that, I don't want to be like—you know who -" Sam's voice trailed off and he ducked his head, hiding his eyes beneath his bangs._

_Ahhh … now Dean was getting it. This was about Dad again. Yeah – more often than not, Dad dealt with the horrors and misery of their lives by drowning his pain in alcohol. Dean understood his father's desire for escape and he had learned over the years how to walk on egg-shells around the man when he was in his cups. And when he was drunk … well … it was best not to piss him off like Sam had gone and done only two days ago._

_Sam, in spite of his giant, trivia-filled brain was stupid sometimes and he had picked the worst time of all to try and convince their father to let him finish his semester before moving on to their next job. It had been Christmas, for God's sake – so of course Dad had been drinking …_

_Sam was too young to remember what Christmas had been like with their mother – about how much time, love and care she put into the holiday - how she decorated the tree so beautifully with lights, hundreds of ornaments, and tinsel dripping from the branches and he didn't know how on Christmas eve she baked cookies and told Dean that he needed to be a good boy and go to bed early so that Santa could bring him lots of presents that he could open morning. _

_Sam never knew that - he had no idea what it was really like to have a mom and he never knew how it felt to miss her so much on that day._

_So, it wasn't completely Sam's fault that the argument got out of control – that it got so physical – and it wasn't completely Dad's fault either that he ended up with a slightly bruised cheek. _

_It was Dean's fault – he should have found a way to stop it – to make them both see reason._

_Dean looked down at the bottle in his hand and suddenly he didn't feel much like drinking anymore._

OOOOOO

A fire wasn't really needed, but the spring air had cooled off overnight and Dean saw it fit to start one anyway for Sam's added comfort and to lighten the dark confines of the cabin.

The fire gave off a muted, dim glow and only the sounds of the wood crackling filled the little hovel. Dean stared mutely into the flames, almost hypnotized as he watched them dance and lick around the logs stacked within the fireplace.

Sam stirred under the blankets Dean had heaped on him and he turned from the flames, his attention snapping instantly from the fire to his little brother.

"Dean?" Sam muttered sleepily.

"Hey – how ya feeling?"

Sam grunted and grimaced as he tried to sit up, holding his side until he was mostly upright. "I'll live – just sore right now. How long was I out?"

"Only a few hours … you might as well go back to sleep."

Sam shook his head and shucked off the blankets. "Too hot."

In the dim light, Sam still looked a little too pale for Dean's liking and his skin glistened with sweat. Instinctively, Dean reached out and palmed Sam's forehead.

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed, but didn't bat Dean away like he would have if he had been more alert and not in pain. He was hot to the touch, but it was hard for Dean to say if that was from a fever or a result of being under too many covers.

"I'm fine, Dean."

"– Says the boy with the hole in his gut." Dean came back without any heat.

Sam ignored his retort, his mind clearly on other things, "We need to figure things out. How long do you think we should stay here?"

Dean shook his head, unsure. "I dunno – "

"I'm thinking we should stay a few days at least … let things blow over a little bit before we get on the road again."

Dean was loath to stay there that long, but with the law gunning for them, they may not have a choice, "If our supplies can hold out that long. I don't want to stick around here longer than we need to – I hate this place."

"Yeah –" Sam sighed, "It doesn't exactly fill me with warm fuzzies either." Sam closed his eyes and leaned up against the wall behind him, holding his side tight and fighting not to wince and moan. Dean took this as a sign that his brother was in need of some pain relief and he reached for med kit, digging around through it until he found a bottle of pills.

"All we got is Tylenol 3 – "

"Good enough." Sam mumbled wearily and took the pills Dean shook out of the bottle without complaint, chasing them down with a mouthful of water from one of the bottles Dean had salvaged from the car.

"So – You hungry?" Dean asked, grabbing a Twinkie and waggling it back and forth. Sam shook his head, "Is that all we got?"

"'fraid so … I might have to try my hand at hunting again."

Sam snorted. "Like that turned out so well last time –"

OOOOOO

_"Tastes like chicken – a rubber chicken that is." Dean complained with his mouth full of the burned and over-cooked rabbit meat Sam had just taken off of his homemade spit. Sam also grimaced as he tried out his cooking._

_"Probably would have been better if it had been a full-grown rabbit." Sam retorted in kind._

_"Shut up. Tomorrow you can do the hunting and I'll do the cooking. At least then, we won't end up having to eat charcoal – unlike you, I can cook without setting the whole damn thing on fire."_

_Sam grumbled something under his breath and Dean grinned at having gotten under his little brother's skin. Sam was so much fun to pick on._

_They were both quiet for a spell, munching unhappily on their meal until Sam's head shot up and he started looking around the silent cabin._

_"What?" Dean asked._

_"Thought I heard something."_

_Dean shook his head, "I didn't hear anything."_

_Sam was unconvinced, "Sounded like … I dunno … a moan?"_

_"A moan?" Dean strained to listen, but heard nothing. "You're probably just hearing my stomach trying and failing to digest this, Sammy"_

_Sam nodded warily, "Maybe – " He chuckled softly, "Maybe I'm just a little paranoid."_

_"Or crazy." Dean added with a grin._

_Sam rolled his eyes and scooted a little closer to the fire. Night had fallen hard and the chill in the little cabin was pervasive – their only source of light and heat was the little fire they had going in the fireplace, but even that was starting to dwindle._

_"Since you're so good at burning things tonight, why don't you go and get us a few more logs before the fire goes completely out." Dean suggested more as a way of distracting his little brother and hopefully to wipe that look of anxiety from his face. Being stuck in the middle of the woods with little to do other than hear things that weren't there meant that he would need to keep Sam occupied._

_Sam huffed. "Fine – I'll do all of the work while you sit on your ass, Jerk."_

_"That's the privilege of being older, Bitch."_

_Grumbling and shaking his head, Sam stood up, resigned to the task Dean had given him and headed for the door. Staring into the fire, he heard his brother grunt and pull at the door knob, jiggling it unsuccessfully._

_Dean turned and saw Sam struggling to open the door, "Geez, Sammy. I know you're a wuss, but even a girl like you should be able to open a door."_

_"It's stuck or something –" Sam pulled at the door, his face red as he strained. "It … won't … open …"_

_Dean sighed heavily and got up, annoyed that he had to leave the warmth of the fire to aid his brother in opening the stupid door. "Here – let me." Dean insisted, pushing Sam away and grabbing the doorknob. It turned easily, but when Dean pulled at the door, it refused to budge._

_"What the Hell –"_

_"Told you. It won't open." Sam gloated as Dean dug his heels into the floor and pulled as hard as he could and still failed to get the damn thing to move._

_Seeing that forcing the door wasn't going to work, Dean kicked at it in frustration with the toe of his boot which did little to open the thing, but did send a shock of pain shooting through his foot. "Shit!"_

_Suddenly, a low noise began to resonate and echo off the walls as the floor vibrated under his feet. Dean turned from the door slowly; the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention as he felt the air temperature drop and saw his breath mist in front of his face._

_"Oh crap –" Dean muttered. _

_"Deeeaaan." Sam whispered anxiously, grabbing a fistful of Dean's jacket just as all Hell broke loose._

TBC...


	3. Chapter 2

**_A/N: Again - many thanks to all of you out there that are reading this and leaving reviews. I'm sorry I didn't get to reply to everyone after the last chapter, things have been kinda hectic around here. Anyhoo, I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you. :)_**

**Chapter 2**

Dean had thought that his anxiousness over being wanted by every law enforcement agency in the country, his brother's injury and the fact that they were staying in a cabin that tried to kill them once before should have been enough kept him alert all night so that he could keep an eye on Sam, but he couldn't fight the overwhelming exhaustion that invaded every part of him and his eyes had closed, operating against the explicit orders of his brain to stay open, and he slipped into a deep sleep before he could stop it.

It was clearly morning by the time he woke up. Sun streamed through the cracks in the windowless walls and the rotten, wood door. In the distance he could hear birds chirping and the sounds of the forest waking up to a new day outside, but none of that eased any of the misgivings staying in this remote cabin still gave him.

"Shit …" Dean scrubbed a hand over his stubbly, tired face and smacked his lips, wishing he had thought to grab a tube of toothpaste from the toiletry bag he left in the car.

"Sam?" Dean croaked and turned where he sat, his muscles protesting after the hours he had spent in one position. He had fallen asleep sitting up with his back resting against the side of the cot where Sam slept and his ass was sore from the hard, wood floor.

Sometime during the night, Sam had crawled back under the covers and was fitfully asleep, the blankets pulled up to his chin, shivering slightly.

"Crap …" Dean muttered, raising a hand to Sam's forehead, finding his flushed skin hot to the touch.

Sam groaned and opened his eyes to slits, making glazed eye contact with Dean. "Wha-?"

"Hey … "

"Don' feel so good."

"Yeah … I figured. Let me take a look, okay?"

Sam shook his head and his teeth chattered, "T-too cold."

"It's just for a second – then I'll get you some more medicine and you can have the blankets back, alright?"

Sam's eyes blinked slowly as he nodded while Dean pulled the blankets he had cocooned himself in and pulled them down past his knees. He then lifted up Sam's shirt and began his inspection, beginning by gently pulling off the bandage that covered the bullet wound Dean had so carefully stitched up. Sam hissed as the tape pulled at his skin and ripped away a few hairs.

Dean could sympathize with his little brother for his discomfort and he may have hissed a little as well when he saw that the wound was now a puffy, bright red, and weeping a yellowish fluid. It was clearly infected and while it was not a surprise that it had developed given the less than sanitary conditions in the cabin, Dean was worried by how fast it seemed to be taking hold.

"I'm gonna have to clean this out again." Dean explained, reaching for the pack and pulling out the bottle of rubbing alcohol, frowning to see that the bottle was almost gone. "Sorry, Dude - this is gonna sting–"

Dean soaked a wad of gauze he found in the med kit with what was left of the alcohol and swept into across the hole in his brother's side. Sam sucked in a breath and shook slightly under Dean's fingers as he flushed out the infected areas, working as quickly as possible so as to not cause him any prolonged pain, yet still, by the time Dean had the wound cleaned as well as he could, Sam was visibly quaking and sweating.

"Sorry about that." Dean offered in way of an apology for causing Sam more pain, and then placed a clean bandage over the wound.

"S –s'okay." Sam accepted wearily and pulled the blankets back up to his chin.

Pain management and fever reduction were next on Dean's to-do list, but to his dismay there were only a few pills left in the Tylenol bottle. They hadn't had any time between escaping from jail and running from the police to stock up their med kit and there were no antibiotics, only a few bandages, and they had just run out of alcohol.

Dean swore under his breath before he fed a dose to Sam and figured that he could get his brother through the day with what they had, but if the infection got any worse Sam would need some strong antibiotics and Dean would need to find a way to get the medicine his bother needed.

Not for the first time, Dean wanted nothing more than to say 'screw-it' to this whole running from the law crap and haul his little brother to a hospital even if it meant that the chances of them getting arrested and sent to prison again would sky-rocket. It wasn't worth Sam's life just to stay out of jail.

"I'm not going to a hospital, Dean." Sam announced as if reading his brother's mind, "It'd be too easy for someone to recognize us."

Dean jerked his head up and met his brother's fever-bright, yet willful eyes, "Sam -"

"No." Sam wasn't going to budge on this, no matter what.

Dean sighed and shook his head at his brother's stubbornness. He was left now with only one option: he was going to have to leave Sam and go to the nearest town to get what they needed all while flying under the radar and not being seen.

But that also meant that Sam would be alone out here, hurt and sick. But what choice did he have? He was out of options and just like the last time they had visited this cabin, they were so screwed.

OOOOOO

_Chaos erupted like a volcano and a hurricane that married and had babies. The walls shook violently - so much so that Dean was sure they might collapse around them. An ear-piercing howl filled his ears just as the first of many objects started sailing through the air, zinging over his and Sam's heads._

_"NO!" A high-pitched and unearthly voice shouted, "STAY!" To Dean's ears it sounded distinctly feminine._

_ The can of peaches Sam had found earlier suddenly became airborne and flew in their direction. Dean ducked, but not fast enough and he felt the can connect with the side of his head. Pain burst through his temple and he fell to his knees, his vision swimming, going in and out of focus._

_"Dean!" Sam yelled and pulled on his sleeve, dragging him across the floor, "the table!"_

_Dean felt a warm wetness trace its way down his face and he wanted nothing more than to just lie down and give into the encroaching darkness, but Sam was yelling at him to get up, yanking frantically on his sleeve. _

_Bottles of water, cans, the leftovers from their meal, even the knife Sam had left sitting on the table flung around the small confines of the cabin and there was no escape – the only exit sealed by whatever power was behind the maelstrom. Sam pulled on him until they both reached the table and Dean felt his little brother shove him up against the wall before upending the plywood tabletop and pulling it backwards until he was shoulder to shoulder with Dean, flush against the wall, the table top serving as a lean-to shield against the objects being hurtled at them._

_Things pounded into the wood, creating a cacophony of noise. Sam held on tight to the wood as the slamming continued, his face tight under the strain. Dean managed to shake off some of the fuzziness in his head to lend a hand when just as suddenly as it started, everything came to a crashing halt. Cans clattered to the floor and objects that had once been floating in mid-air dropped in a series of thuds._

_Dean panted while his heart thudded in his ears and his head strummed in time to its rhythm. Except for the heavy breathing of his brother, Dean heard nothing after that and silence took over. He glanced at Sam whose eyes were wide as he kept a death grip along the edges of the plywood._

_"You okay?" Dean finally managed to speak._

_Sam nodded quickly, looking at the side of Dean's head, "You?"_

_"I'll live." Dean assured him even though he was still having a hard time seeing straight._

_"You think it's done?" Sam questioned warily._

_"I dunno … stay under the wood. " Dean ordered as he carefully poked his head out from their shelter._

_"Dean, don't" Sam warned, but Dean was already getting a good look at the damage. Things lay on the floor strewn about, the cot was upended and lying on its side and even Sam's pocket knife was embedded in the board protecting them, but whatever it was that attacked them seemed to be gone … at least for now._

_Dean ducked back under the plywood; Sam's mouth was still hanging open almost comically, "What was that?" Sam breathed, "some sort of spirit?"_

_Dean looked at his brother like he had just grown a set of horns, "Gee, ya think?"_

_Sam's face suddenly switched from shock to anger and if his skull had been transparent, Dean believed that he would have been able to see the gears turn and snap into place in his little brother's brain. "I can't believe this …" Sam seethed, "I should have known –"_

_"Known what?" Dean demanded._

_"Don't you think that it's more than a coincidence that Dad just happened to send us out to a cabin that turns out to be haunted?" Sam asked._

_"So?" Dean still wasn't thinking straight and his head felt like it had a jackhammer drilling into it, but he really didn't like what his brother was trying to explain._

_"Don't you get it?" Sam kept going, "This is no happy, brotherly bonding trip into the woods, Dean. Dad didn't send us out here to just hunt rabbits – this is a job. Dad sent us on a freaking hunting job and didn't even bother to tell us."_

**OOOOOO**

Sam wasn't getting any better and no matter how many times Dean tried to clean wound, it just got redder, hotter, and more foul. He was barely coherent as he shivered and shook under the covers of the blankets, his eyes bright and glassy with fever, but Dean knew what he had to do.

"Don' go." Sam pleaded while his face went into full-on puppy-dog mode. "What if someone – what if someone recognizes you?"

"This isn't up for debate, Sam. You need medicine, period."

"Jus' gimme a couple a days and … I'll be fine." Sam panted as though talking was exhausting him, "Can't let you get caught."

"I won't get caught." Dean tried to plant a mischievous smile on his face. "I'm awesome, remember?"

"Breaking into a pharmacy? - it's too risky."

"Yeah well, I'd go and buy the things you need on one of our credit cards ... but oh wait - they're all flagged by the FBI. So, stealing it is."

Sam gave Dean another pitiful face and Dean hurried to reassure him, "Look,Sam ... the nearest town is a tiny podunk. Chances are the local pharmacy doesn't have any security better than lock on the door. I'll be in and out in minutes – nothing to worry about."

"Maybe … I just don't like this." Sam looked up at Dean and he saw that no matter what he said or how many assurances he gave his little brother that he would make it in and out of town without being noticed, Sam would fret and worry himself into frenzy.

"Sorry, dude." Dean said sincerely, setting several bottles of water on the floor and Sam's gun beside the bed where he could reach them, "Just stay in bed, drink plenty of water and try to get some sleep, okay?"

"Dean –"

"I'll be fine … promise."

"You better." Sam mumbled, his eyes sliding closed as sleep overcame him.

Dean figured if he hurried, he just might be able to get to town, get the meds, get out and be back to Sam before he woke up.

Piece of cake …

He hoped, anyway.

OOOOOOO

_"What are you talking about? Dad would have said something if he knew this place was haunted." Dean derided Sam's epiphany, defending their father, "And even if he did, he had to have had a good reason for keeping it from us."_

_"You mean like he wanted to test us?" Sam spit back, fuming._

_"No … as in maybe he thought we could handle this – that we could work together to waste this mother."_

_Sam snorted and shook his head, but Dean cut off any further arguments his brother had lined up against Dad by raising his hand, "We don't have time to wonder if Dad knew if this place was haunted or not – we got to find out what we're dealing with here and figure out a way to kill it."_

_"Fine … " Sam cooled down visibly now that Dean had given him something else to focus on besides their father's true intentions, "Got any ideas? 'cause I'm all out."_

_"Well … it's quieted down for now. You stay here, I'll try the door and see if it's still got us in lockdown or not."_

_Sam made it clear that he wasn't thrilled with this plan, "You're hurt, Dean … I'll go."_

_"I'm fine, Sam. Just stay under the board, got it?"_

_"Don't be an ass, I can – " Dean wouldn't let him finish his argument and was already scooting out from under the board, "Deeean."_

_Ignoring his brother's protests, Dean quietly snuck out completely, exposing himself to whatever was in the cabin that had a bone to pick with them. Crouching low, he crept his way to the door. It was only a few feet to his side, but expecting to be attacked by canned peaches at any moment made it feel like it was a mile away, and when he finally reached it, he let out the breath he had been holding._

_Cautiously, he tried the door. Again, the doorknob turned, but it refused to open no matter how much he swore, kicked at it, or slammed his shoulder into it. They were stuck, and there was no way out._

_ As if to prove that they weren't going anywhere, the nearly full bottle of Glenfiddich that Dean had every intention of keeping suddenly flew in his direction. He ducked just before it could smash into his head then watched in dismal horror as the 30 year old scotch connected with the door frame and exploded in a shower of glass._

_He almost cried._

OOOOOO

Dean had been right about one thing; the nearest town to the cabin was a Podunk and it was small, even by small town standards. It consisted of nothing more than a little greasy-spoon, a gas station with ancient-looking pumps, and a mom and pop grocery store.

One business it was also glaringly lacking however, was a pharmacy.

"Do people not get sick in this town?" He groused to himself, driving down the quiet, deserted main street under the cover of night. Where was he to get the meds Sam needed without a pharmacy?

He was just about to give up on this place and drive another twenty miles south to the next town when he caught sight of a large, Victorian-style house with a sign dangling from the roof of a wrap-around porch:

_Dr. T.S. Miles, MD. Family Medicine_

The lights were off in the house and Dean thought he might have hit the jackpot with this. A family medicine practice was almost guaranteed to have all of the supplies and meds he would need to bring to Sam and this place looked like an easy score. He'd be in and out in no time.

Dean parked the car where it would be least likely to be noticed – behind the gas station and between two other half-rusted vehicles about a block away from his target. No one was out at this time of night and Dean got the sense that this was the kind of town that closed down as soon as the sun went down. Plus, it was nearing 2 AM, so chances were that he'd never see anyone and no one would see him.

As he ran down the deserted street, Dean wondered how anyone could stand living in a little town such as this. There was no bar, no movie theatre, not even a McDonald's – he'd probably shoot himself in the head out of sheer boredom if he had to live here.

Dean stayed in the shadows of the trees he passed as he approached the doctor's house. It probably belonged to some old, country saw-bones who lived in the same house he practiced medicine in, so he was quiet as a church mouse while he pulled lock picks from his pocket and got to work on the back door.

As expected, it was an easy break-in and he walked in silently, finding himself in a hallway with several doors on each side. He pulled out a flashlight then walked towards the first door and opened it.

It was a small exam room, probably meant for children given the posters of Elmo on the wall and the box of toys in the corner. He didn't give much hope in finding what he was looking for in there, so he moved to the next door in the hall.

The next two rooms also appeared to be exam rooms, but the door after those was more promising. He found himself in what might be some kind of lab with a microscope sitting on top of a counter next to a sink and above those were a series of glass cabinets installed into the wall. Dean saw right away that the cabinets were stocked full of supplies.

"Bingo." Dean whispered as he made for the cabinets. He silently and methodically opened the doors, looking for the items on his mental list; grabbing bandages, gauze, and anything else he thought might come in handy and stuffing them into his pockets. His most important task though was to find where the doctor stored his medications and he turned around, scanning the room until his eyes landed on a large, steel locker.

Unlike the cabinets with the bandages, this one was locked.

A good place to keep the meds, Dean figured and he was soon putting his lock-picking tools to use once again. He was easily inside it in under a minute, swinging the doors wide open. It may not be as well stocked as a Walgreens pharmacy, but it still had enough drugs in a multitude of bottles with names Dean couldn't pronounce to make finding what he needed a slow procedure. It took a while for him to find a bottle of pills with a name he recognized as anti-biotics and after taking it from the shelf, he closed the cabinet back up and locked it again. Hopefully, the doctor wouldn't even notice that anything had been taken.

It was just as he was about to pocket the bottle of pills when the overhead light suddenly flicked on and the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked behind him echoed off the walls.

OOOOOO

_ "Okay … so we're stuck here." Dean reported, running back under the piece of plywood where Sam was still hiding, "I guess whatever was pitching that hissy fit really doesn't want us to go."_

_"Well whatever it is, we can't stay under here forever."_

_"No … but let's give it a few minutes and if it stays quiet, we might as well try to search the cabin, maybe we can find some clues about who owned this place or whoever's spirit is here."_

_Dean's head ached mercilessly and he wanted nothing more than to just go to sleep for the next day or three. He leaned his head back against the wall behind him and attempted to not look as wretched as he felt._

_"Your head's still bleeding," Sam so helpfully pointed out, as if Dean didn't already know that. But, when his little brother dug into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, handing it over for him to staunch the blood, he felt some of his crankiness melt away._

_"Thanks." Dean took the hankie and pressed it to his temple._

_"Sounds like it's quiet again. Think we should try looking around?"_

_"Okay, but be careful - and if anything goes hinky, come right back here and hide under the board."_

_"Duh …" Sam agreed, albeit somewhat snottily._

_Simultaneously, Sam and Dean scooted out from under the plywood and stood, both of them keeping a wary eye on all of the objects in the room. For now, it was still quiet and nothing was airborne, so both he and his brother began to tear the place apart for anything that might help them figure out what the hell was going on._

_Sam searched through the cabinets again while Dean took the rest of the cabin, starting near the fireplace. There was barely any light to speak of with the fire down to just embers and it was making the process all the more difficult. Dean would have thrown another log on the fire, but seeing as how they were out of wood and they had no way to go outside and get more –_

_"These cabinet doors are wood – we could burn them." Sam called out from across the room. He must have had just as much fun fumbling around in the dark as he did._

_"Good idea."_

_Sam set about removing the cabinet doors and soon the fire was burning bright once again and they could see a little better to continue their search. _

_Strangely however, the spirit or whatever it was, remained quiet. That is until Sam came near the door._

_The walls began to shake once again._

_Sam stepped away from the door._

_Everything stopped._

_He stepped closer to the door and the vibrations started up again._

_Sam stepped away and everything went back to normal._

_"huh …" Sam muttered._

_Dean was about to throw something at his brother himself, saving the spirit the trouble, "Will you cut that out?" _

_"It doesn't like us coming near the door. I think as long as we stay clear of it, we'll be okay and it won't attack." Sam explained._

_"Great … " Dean grumbled, "but, that still means we're stuck in here."._

_"Yeah - " Sam continued to muse, "But, with us trapped in here it could take us out easily, but it hasn't. Doesn't sound like a vengeful spirit to me …"_

_Dean's snort from that comment made his head throb, "Yeah… tell that to the dent in my skull."_

_"I don't think it meant to hurt you … what if it just wanted our attention."_

_"I think locking the door and sealing us inside is attention enough, don't you? It didn't have to go and throw crap at us."_

_ "It's just an idea," Sam shrugged, "Let's keep looking."_

_"Don't see what we're gonna find ... There's nothing here - We're so screwed." Dean couldn't help but feel a little pessimistic about finding a way to escape the cabin as tried to step around all of the clutter strewn about the floor. With the lighting still dim, even with the fire blazing, he failed to see the dark-colored pack lying on the floor in front of him until it was too late and his foot caught underneath it. With a curse, he tripped and fell forward, flinging his hands out in front of him to catch his fall._

_His hands hit the large, round stones that lined the left side of the fireplace and he felt one of them come loose and drop just before he fell hard, barely missing the floor with his face._

_"You okay?" Sam asked, by his side suddenly, grabbing Dean around the bicep and helping him back up._

_"Yeah, I'm fine … stupid pack … stupid cabin …"_

_Dean would have gone on and on about how stupid everything was, but he looked at Sam whose attention was drawn to the fireplace, "What?" Dean asked._

_"Look—" Sam pointed to the hand-sized stones mortared around the fireplace that Dean had unsuccessfully tried to catch himself with and saw the hole that had been created when one of the stones had come loose and fallen._

_Sam stepped closer to the hole and peered inside, "There's something in there ..."_

OOOOOOOO

"Don't move." A woman's voice ordered from behind Dean's back, "Turn around."

"I thought you didn't want me to move." Dean snarked with his hands still in the air.

"You know what I mean," She came back with heated exasperation, "Just turn around so I can see you."

Dean slowly pivoted to face the woman in a knee-length nightgown, holding a rifle against her shoulder and aiming for his chest. To his surprise, she wasn't too much older than him, maybe no more than 30 with long, red curls that bounced messily from her head down to her shoulders.

Piercing blue eyes locked onto him in a not-so-friendly manner. "What are you doing in my office?" She demanded to know, her eyebrows coming together in unmistakable anger. Which made perfect sense to Dean; after all, she had just caught him breaking into her place at 2 am trying to steal medicine from her.

With that gun still aimed squarely at him, Dean had only one weapon left in his arsenal to get him out of this jam: his charm.

He cocked a sheepish grin and raised his hands a little higher to show her that he meant her no harm, "So … you must be the good doctor."

"And you must be the asshole breaking into my place." came her fiery reply.

Dean couldn't really argue with that, "Touché."

Her eyes left Dean's face and went to the pockets he had stuffed full of supplies and she dipped her head towards them, "What's in your pockets? Empty them out."

Dean slowly lowered his hands and brought them down towards his pockets and then as if remembering that she didn't know what he had hidden in them, she took on a deadlier demeanor, "Don't try anything funny like pulling a weapon on me … this rifle isn't just for looks, ya know. It's loaded and I guarantee you I know how to use it."

"I thought doctors were supposed to do no harm?" Dean quipped, turning the charm on as far up the dial as it would go.

"I'd never harm any of my _patients_ … but home intruders? The Hippocratic oath doesn't say anything against that."

Carefully, Dean followed doctor's orders and started emptying his pockets out, dropping rolls of gauze, tape, bandages, alcohol swabs and the bottle of antibiotics to the floor.

Her eyes dropped to the supplies on the floor and Dean had to fight his instinct to grab the gun while she was distracted, but he didn't want to hurt her – she was still an innocent civilian even if she did had a gun trained on him. Besides, he still had a chance to talk his way out of this.

She looked up to his face again, "You broke in to steal gauze and antibiotics?"

"Look … I know –"

She stated as she looked him up and down, "You don't look hurt to me. "

"It's not for me …"

"Then who's it for?"

Dean debated with himself over what sort of story he should cook up for her, but he decided to go the route he usually avoided at all costs: the truth.

"My brother … he's hurt and he needs this stuff."

"There's a hospital not twenty miles from here, why don't you take him there instead of stealing from me?"

"It's uh …well … complicated."

"I get it. You're a thief and a criminal and you don't want to get caught by checking into a hospital, am I right?"

Dean was hesitant to reply, looked quickly down at his feet, letting his silence speak for itself.

"I should call the cops." She stated and Dean started a litany of curses up in his head until she spoke up once again, her tone softening unexpectedly, "But … something tells me you're not lying. "

"What makes you say that?" Dean asked, "You don't know me from Adam. I could be a serial killer for all you know." He added, immediately regretting his decision to try and talk his way out this – he always managed to say the wrong thing. Sam was much better at the talking crap and Dean couldn't pull off the manipulative puppy-eyed thing as well as him, but he gave it his best shot anyway, hoping that she would see that he wasn't a threat.

She nodded slowly and cautiously, "I suppose you could be, but I read people pretty well and I know when I'm being played. There were plenty of narcotics and controlled drugs in that cabinet you could have stolen yet you only took a bottle of antibiotics. That tells me that you weren't coming in here to get a fix or to score drugs to sell. It makes me think that you really _do_ need these supplies."

She paused for a beat, "This brother of yours … how is he injured?"

"He was shot. I took care of it, got the bullet out, and stitched him up, but he's got an infection now … he's pretty sick." Dean couldn't believe he had just laid out the truth to her like that, but something in her eyes told him that she could handle the truth.

"Shot? And you just stitched him up and that's it? You make it sound like you do that sort of thing on a regular basis. Bullet wounds aren't something that you can just play doctor with – "

"Look – I know … believe me, I do." Dean came back, cutting off the rant she was starting, "But getting him to a hospital just isn't in the cards right now."

She stood eyeing him, quiet for a moment as she appeared to struggle with some internal dilemma before coming to a decision and speaking again, "Fine … put the stuff back in your pockets." She ordered coolly, the gun still raised and aimed in his direction.

Dean wasn't expecting that, he was just hoping to get out without getting shot. "You're gonna let me keep all of this?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty pissed that you saw it fit to break into my home and office and there's not a snowball's chance in Hell I'm lowering this gun until you are far from my door …"

She quirked a faint grin, "but I understand the need to take care of others when they're hurt – it's kinda my job and somehow I get the feeling that it's your job too. "

OOOOOOO

_Sam carefully reached into the hole and pulled out several rolled up papers._

_He handed the stack off to Dean who unrolled the papers and got an eyeful of awfulness._

_"Uhhggg, this is sick." Dean felt like losing his lunch._

_"What is it?" Sam asked, looking over his shoulder. _

_On the parchment pages were drawings – many, many drawings, all made with the same kind of discolored, brownish ink that were meticulously detailed and realistic, created by someone with a true, yet gruesome gift for art. _

_Each of them was apparently of the same person; a woman, naked, bound to a cot, gagged, and bleeding - her eyes wide with fear and terror. Each individual drawing had the woman in a slightly different pose and in various stages of rape and torture – in some she appeared to be screaming and crying but in the last three drawings, her eyes were closed and if Dean had to guess, he'd say that she was already dead when those pictures were created._

_Dean shifted his focus from the artwork towards the cot across the room and shuddered – it looked an awful lot like the one in the drawings; in fact, all of the backgrounds looked like the rest of the cabin's interior. _

_The artist appeared to also take pride in his twisted work, signing his name with a flourish in the right-hand corner of each piece: _James R. Jackson_._

_ "God, Dean – These are …" Sam swallowed, at a loss for words, "Who would draw something like this?"_

_"A sick bastard, that's for sure." Dean snarled._

_ "You think these are of a real woman?"_

_"Makes sense … a woman gets tortured and killed out here in this cabin by some psycho, Van Gogh wannabe and now we got a pissed off spirit on our hands, what do you think?"_

_Sam nodded in agreement, his face pinched in empathy for the lady in the pictures, "She must be tied to the cabin if she's able to lock us in – that means there must be some of her remains in here somewhere."_

_"Where would that be, genius? We've already searched the whole damned place, " Dean looked down at the floor, "then again, if she's buried under the floor -"_

_"She's not under the floor…" Sam whispered, his gaze fixed on drawings, inspecting them so close that he practically had the sheets in his face._

_"How do you know?" _

_Sam made intense eye contact with Dean and lifted the papers, giving them a little shake, "Because, she's here … she's the drawings."_

TBC ...


	4. Chapter 3 and Epilogue

_A/N: Heya, everyone - sorry, sorry, sorry, I took so freakin' long to get this last chapter posted. I got about half-way through finishing it when my brain decided to quit working and then I kept getting distracted by comment fic memes.(I know - excuses, excuses ...) _

_ My bad. :(  
><em>

_Anyway, thank you for reading this story if I haven't already thanked you personally. I'm horribly bad at replying to reviews on this site, but if you ever read my stuff over on LJ, I almost guarantee that I will reply to your comments (for some reason 's reply system really bugs the heck out of me.)**  
><strong>_

_Again, this story isn't beta'd, so I'm sorry again for all of the travesties against the English language you may encounter. _

**Chapter 3**

Dean beat a hasty retreat from town, pushing the car's engine as far as he dared while flooring the accelerator. He'd been gone far longer than he had hoped and he hated that he had had to leave Sam behind in that freaking cabin alone all this time.

Sure, nothing had happened to them during their stay this time around yet, but if something did rear its fugly head, Sam was in no condition to defend himself. The cabin was too far out in the boonies for cell reception and Sam had no way to call him if he was in trouble.

Logically, he tried to calm himself by remembering that they had taken care of the problem they faced last time, yet still, he had a creeping anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach and he felt that he couldn't get back to his brother fast enough.

OOOOOO

_"What do you mean 'she's the drawings'? You're not making any sense."_

_"Look closer, Dean – doesn't this ink seem a little strange to you?" Dean still didn't see what his brother was going on about. Sam picked up on his confusion and pointed at the drawings, "It's the ink – it's blood. And I'm guessing it's _her_ blood." He added, pointed at the woman in the pictures.  
><em>

_Dean took a closer look at the rust colored ink and he could have slapped himself for not recognizing it for what it was sooner – after all, he'd seen enough if the stuff, in all of its forms – dried and wet. He figured he must have been knocked on the head by those peaches harder than he thought to be so slow in the uptake._

_"Shit …" Dean shook his head, "That's just so wrong… that sick mother –"_

_"Yeah… " Sam agreed.  
><em>

_Fuming, Dean grabbed the drawings and felt them start to crush in his hands, "When we get out of here we gotta track the guy that did this down – ."_

_"Dean … it wasn't a ghost or monster that did this … it was a person. We don't kill people."_

_"People, Sam?" Dean took the pages of paper with their gruesome images of a woman they had no name for and tossed them into the fire, hoping she could find some peace as the last of her mortal remains turned to ash. "They're the _real _monsters."_

_For several minutes Sam was silent as he stood by Dean staring into the flames, watching the pages curl around the edges, blacken, and then fall apart, mingling into the rest of the ash gathered at the bottom of the fireplace. _

_Sam spoke up quietly after the last of the drawings disintegrated, breaking the shroud of silence, "You think this is it? That she's gone?"_

_"Only one way to find out." Dean replied and turned around, "Stay here." He ordered Sam back as he headed for the door. Taking a deep breath, Dean readied himself for another round of flying crap, but when he cautiously touched the doorknob and turned it, heaving a heavy sigh when nothing was hurled at his head. He gave the door a tug and it swung open easily._

_"Well … guess that answers that question." Dean confidently stated, "Grab your crap, Sammy. We're outta here."_

_"You sure? What if we missed something?"_

_"Door's open and I'd rather freeze my ass off in the car than spend another minute in here, don't you? So are you coming or not?"_

_Sam looked around the tossed about cabin uneasily with an air of uncertainty, but he shook it off and gave into Dean's desire to flee the cabin that had trapped them, "Okay … just let me put out the fire."_

_After dousing the fire with a bottle of water, Sam gathered up his pack and tossed in some of his things that had been strewn about. Dean picked up his stuff as well then led his little brother out of the cabin._

_Sam stopped just outside the door and looked back at the lonesome shack, "She must have wanted this – wanted us to find those drawings and put her to rest, that's why she wouldn't let us go – she was desperate to get out. Makes me wonder how long she was trapped in there, unable to move on and all by herself – it must have been so lonely …"_

_Dean looked at his little brother's face. The darkness shadowed much of his features as did his unruly hair, but he could still see the creases of emotion that etched themselves into Sam's face. There was sadness mixed in with anger , like he truly felt for the woman whose life had been taken from her and for the years of loneliness and misery that followed after that, waiting for someone –anyone - to come to this empty cabin and save her from her isolated torment. _

_Dean didn't think he could imagine such misery and pain – sure, there were times when he felt alone, when he felt like the monkey in the middle between Sam and Dad, but the truth was, he was never alone – he had his family and even when it was a dysfunctional mess, they had each other. He just hoped it stayed that way._

_"I dunno." Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder, "But it's over now and I say we get the Hell out of here and never come back. Sound good to you or should we just stand here and stare forlornly at this shitty cabin all night?"_

OOOOOO

Pockets heavy laden with the supplies the doctor had given him, and with a shotgun filled with salt rounds in his hand, Dean's heart pounded in time to his feet as he ran down the narrow, branch strewn, and uneven trail towards the cabin. His anxiety didn't let up even as the cabin came into his field of vision. Though he repeatedly tried to convince himself that Sam couldn't possibly have gotten that much worse since he left, his gut was still doing somersaults and he knew he wouldn't feel any relief until he got to his brother.

Finally, Dean reached the door to the shack and gave it a push.

But, it would not open.

This couldn't be happening – not again. "Crap."

"Sam?" He shouted through the door while pounding on it, _"SAM!"_

Dean didn't hear anything from inside and his heart galloped in throat. He lifted his hand to pound on the door once again when he felt the wind kick up around him, tossing fallen leaves into the air. A shiver chased up his spine and he slowly turned around, feeling as though he was being watched. He hoisted the shotgun up and turned around in a circle, readying his nerves for anything. He scanned the trees and listened for any sounds coming from the forest, but there nothing to be seen or heard.

After a second of frenzied anxiety building in Dean's stomach, the wind suddenly died as quickly as it had started and everything was quiet once again.

Dean stood motionless, trying to calm his racing heart and heavy breathing until he finally snapped out of it, turning back to the door. He raised a fist to bang on the only entrance to the cabin once again when the door suddenly swung open, his pale and sweaty brother standing on the other side.

"Dean?" Sam swayed slightly as he held on to the doorknob then grabbed the door jamb to steady his unsteady legs, "Why are you banging on the door?"

"The door wouldn't open … and I thought …"

"Oh …" Sam cut him off, "Sorry … forgot I locked it."

"How'd you lock it?" Dean letting his fear turn into anger at his brother for making him worry, "I didn't even know it had a lock. Why'd you do that?"

"I pushed a chair against the door … Was hearin' stuff … prolly just my 'magination - Stupid, huh?" Sam explained blearily as Dean stepped in, "This place … just makes me a little paranoid, ya know?"

Yeah, that was just how Dean felt as well, but he didn't have time to really dwell on that as Sam took that moment to stumble and if Dean hadn't grabbed his brother around the waist at that moment, he would have been meeting the floor with his face.

"Whoa … let's get you back in bed." Dean helped lead Sam back over to the cot and laid him back down.

Sam groaned and held his wounded side as Dean lifted his legs and got him situated again, pulling a blanket up and over him. He ran a hand over Sam's forehead and swore under his breath. His brother was burning up and Dean didn't need a thermometer to tell him that the fever was dangerously high.

Dean reached into his supply heavy pocket and produced the bottle of antibiotics, shaking out two pills before adding a couple of Tylenol into the mix. "Here … take 'em."

Sam obeyed, wearily taking the pills from Dean's hand and he didn't offer any resistance when Dean helped him sit up. Sam raised the pills to his mouth and popped them in, but when he tried to bring a bottle of water to his lips to chase them down, his hand shook so badly that Dean had to lay his hand over Sam's to steady it.

"Thanks." Sam mumbled once the pills had been washed down and he tried to lower the water bottle, but Dean stopped its descent.

"Drink the whole thing, Sam. You need to stay hydrated and it doesn't look like you even touched any of the water I left you while I was out." Dean chastised as he pointed to the full water bottles next to the cot.

Sam made a petulant groan, but brought the bottle back up to his mouth and drank the rest without another complaint.

When he was finished, he slid down the bed again and blinked slowly until he was out like a light only a moment later.

"'night, Sammy." Dean said, patting his brother affectionately on the shoulder before he took a seat on the floor beside the cot. He pulled the shotgun over his lap, feeling a little more secure with the weapon on him as he tried his best to stay alert.

OOOOOOO

_ The curvy, redheaded waitress bent over the counter, her blouse opening just enough for him to get a peek at the pink, lacy bra she wore underneath. He smiled gleefully, tearing his eyes away from her cleavage just long enough to look her in the eyes as she handed him his order – a hot, steaming plate of chili-cheese fries._

_ "This is just what I needed … thanks, Hon." He said, digging into the greasy pile of fries._

_The waitress, 'Rhonda' her name tag read, smiled back at Dean while he ate, then rapped her knuckles on the counter to get his attention. But Dean was so hungry and intent on finishing this plate of fries in record time that he ignored her at first – there'd be time to charm her into showing off more of that pink bra after he was done. But, she wasn't one to be ignored and she knocked on the counter again, this time louder and with an air of irritation._

_With a small, internal sigh, Dean stopped eating to look up at the waitress, but nearly fell of his chair when the pretty young redhead wasn't there; instead he was met with the angry, bearded, and grizzled face of John Winchester, who strangely enough, still wore the waitress' uniform - hairy chest, arms, and all._

_"Dad?" He gulped.  
><em>

_"Open the door, Dammit."_

Oh crap …. Dream … this is a dream.

_Dean shot up, his head nearly colliding with ceiling of the car and he was instantly fully awake and alert, meeting his father's face as he knocked on the window of the door._

_"Open up, Dean." Dad demanded and he bolted into action, unlocking the door and pushing it open._

_From the backseat, Sam mumbled as he sat up and rubbed his eyes, "Wha? … Dad?"_

_"You two - get out here right now!"_

_Dad was pissed - nothing new or unexpected there. Dean was pretty sure it had to do with finding his sons sleeping in the car rather than in the cabin he had ordered them to stay in and his assumption proved correct a moment later after he and Sam had exited the car._

_"What the Hell are you two doing in the car? I told you to stay in the cabin."_

_"Yeah … about that …" Dean started._

_"The cabin was haunted." Sam finished testily and before Dean could stop him, Sam's eyebrows knit together in a sharp V and he slipped on one of his patented bitchfaces. Dean knew his brother and knew when an explosion was imminent._

_He kicked Sam in the shin, but that still didn't stop him starting in on their father and damning the consequences, "But, you knew that … didn't you, Dad?"_

_Dad met Sam's intense gaze head-on, but didn't lie or beat around the bush, "Yeah, I did. But, I knew you boys could take care of it."_

_"We could have been killed." Sam voiced incredulously as he pointed to his brother, "Dean got hurt. Don't you think we should have known about the spirit first before you sent us in there?" Sam asked, his voice rising along with his anger._

_"Sam –" Dad took a step forward until he and his son were toe to toe, equaling the young man's temper. "You and Dean both need to be ready for anything that comes your way whether you like it or not. Sometimes you won't get the luxury of researching and planning before a monster comes at you and sometimes you just need to deal with unexpected crap. That's why I sent you two there – to learn how to handle a case when it suddenly lands in your lap and work as a team."_

_Sam at least had the good sense to back down after Dad's brief explanation. Dad then turned from Sam and wheeled on Dean, "Now … you boys took care of the ghost, didn't you?"_

_Dean swallowed, "Yessir." he replied quickly as Sam continued to make a pinched face that expressed his anger, but wisely kept his mouth shut.  
><em>

_"Good." Dad eyed Dean carefully, his gaze settling on the cut and bruise adorning his temple. "You okay?"_

_"Yeah … just a little bump." Dean assured him, even if his head still ached miserably._

_ "Good," Dad nodded then added a heartbeat later, "well … since you boys took care of things here, let's go. You guys hungry?"_

_"God yes." Dean responded immediately. He was starving and last night's rabbit hadn't exactly been filling._

_Dad headed back to his truck wordlessly after that and Sam and Dean followed their father down the road a few moments later in the car. Dean was just happy to be out of the forest, back on the road and heading for the nearest diner, yet Sam sat sullenly in the passenger seat, a scowl permanently etching his face._

_"What?" Dean asked Sam._

_"Nothing." Sam replied, looking out the window._

_It was twenty minutes later that their father pulled into the parking lot of a small diner and they followed him inside to a booth. They ordered coffee and breakfast and little was said between the three of them until after their food arrived. Dean dug right in to his plate of bacon and eggs while Sam mostly ignored his omelet and leveled his gaze on their father._

_"So … who was she, Dad?" Sam asked, clearly not ready to let Dad's decision to send them out to a haunted cabin without warning them thing go so easily, "—the woman in the cabin?"_

_Dad sighed and took another swig of his coffee before he responded to Sam's question, "Her name was Lillian White …" _

_ Dad went on to explain the story, speaking low so no one could overhear._

_ " She was a nurse at the state mental hospital and she went missing right about the same time James Jackson, a patient from that same hospital escaped. He was a gifted artist until he had a psychotic break in his twenties and killed a model that posed for him, and when she was found, she was missing a pair of eyes – like they had been scooped out of her head with a spoon."_

_"Uggg, Dad … I'm tryin' to eat here." Dean interrupted, dropping his fork and giving up on trying to enjoy his eggs.  
><em>

_"But the police found him, right?" Sam asked, enthralled with the story, ignoring Dean's displeasure._

_"Yeah ... he was caught, but at trial he was found not-guilty by reasons of insanity and committed to the funny farm indefinitely. He was there for about ten years before Lillian White began working there and he became obsessed with her - drawing her over and over again, filling his walls with his pictures of her. Repeatedly, he asked her to pose for him, but she refused each time. She started to become concerned with his fixation on her and asked for a transfer. But Jackson flipped out when he learned she wasn't coming back to his ward. He found a way to escape and tracked her down, kidnapping her after she was leaving work one night and took her out to that cabin in the woods. He tortured her for days until she died then burned her body in a shallow pit behind the cabin. Jackson was upset that his 'muse', as he called her, had died and went out to find a new one, but he was caught trying to kidnap a girl from a mall parking lot. He was arrested and confessed to murdering the nurse. This time though, the insanity defense didn't work for him and he was sent to death row ... they executed him a few years later."_

_Sam sat with his mouth agape, "But … how did you know that the cabin would be haunted? How did you find out?"_

_Dad took another sip of his coffee, "I got wind of it from Caleb. He heard from the local yokels out here that the police never searched the cabin as thoroughly as they should have – they had a confession and the remains of the body that had been burned and felt that was enough to put him away. But over the years the cabin garnered a sort of reputation - there were stories about it being haunted and about kids daring each other to spend the night there only to be spooked away. I figured that there had to be some truth behind those rumors and perhaps that there was something left of the nurse within the cabin. I wasn't 100% positive that it was actually haunted,but I thought if it was, then this might be a good case for you two to cut your teeth on alone."_

_Sam grumbled, picking at his food "Still … would have been nice to know all of this before … we didn't even have any salt or iron..." Dean shot Sam a silencing glare and elbowed him, hoping that his little brother would take the hint and not pick another fight with their father. _

_"Sometimes you won't have those things and you'll need to improvise, that was the whole point of this." Dad returned Sam's glare with one of his own, but suddenly softened a little, "Actually, Sam … I never went on any salt'n'burn with Caleb… I was in the woods keeping an eye on you two the whole time – if things had gotten too out of hand, I was ready to help."_

_Sam wasn't impressed and grumbled under his breath. Dad quickly switched back to looking as if he might blow a gasket._

_"Well … either way." Dean spoke up before either his dad or brother could much more than exchange heated glances, meaning that it was his cue to step in and diffuse the tension, "Thanks to my incredible hunting skills I found the drawings that sicko made in her blood and we burned them. So, that's the end of her and that counts as a win in my book."_

_Sam stomped on Dean's foot and added sarcastically, "Oh yeah … you found them alright ... or should I stay you literally stumbled upon them and nearly took your face off in the process."_

_"Hey ... at least I don't trip over my own feet, like some people." Dean grinned at Sam. "When I fall, I fall with _style_."_

OOOOOO

Dean shot awake from an uneasy nap, his back resting up against the wall next to the cot with the rock-salt loaded shotgun still lying across his lap. His senses were on high alert and he was sure he had heard something, like a whisper that was too low for him to make out the words, but when he turned and looked at Sam, his brother was fast asleep and silent.

He sat stock still and listened hard for anything, unable to shake the feeling of being watched while hisgut churned in a way that made the little hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. And if their dad ever taught them one thing, it was to listen to their gut.

Dean slid his shotgun off of his lap and stood up carefully, looking all about the cabin. Nothing appeared to be amiss, but there was one thing he felt the urge to check and he walked over to the door.

Grabbing the doorknob, he gave it a twist and it turned freely and when the door swung open, he breathed a sigh of relief. Yet still, he felt wary and couldn't fully explain to himself why. He took a careful step outside the door and peered out into the woods, his eyes trying to penetrate the darkness for any movement and ears straining to listen for any noise.

But there was nothing.

All was quiet.

Dean turned back to the door to go back inside when a gust of wind suddenly kicked him in the face and the door slammed shut.

"Shit." Dean tried the door immediately, but it was sealed tight and no amount of pulling or banging on it would open it.

Sam was still inside.

_Shit, shit, shit , shit_

And Dean was trapped outside.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit_

"Sam!" Dean shouted into the door. "SAM!"

The air temperature around him dropped enough for his breath to mist in front of his face as he banged frantically on the door, channeling all of his anger, his fear, and his strength into beating it down. But for all of that, the only thing all of his efforts gave him was shortness of breath.

On the other side of the door, Dean heard a series of thumps and a muffled shout of, "Dean!", that was undeniably Sam's.

"Hold on, Sam!" Dean yelled back.

More scuffling could be heard from inside followed by a loud shot gun blast. "Sam?"

"She's gone for now, Dean … but hurry … She'll be back." Sam called out.

Dean pushed aside his anxiety for the time being and focused on a way to get inside the cabin so he could finally destroy whatever it was that was haunting the cabin before it could hurt his little brother.

He turned around in a circle until his eyes landed on a rusty hatchet lying next to a pile of logs. Wasting no time, he grabbed the hatchet and started swinging at the door, smashing the dull blade against the old wood.

The door still wouldn't budge, but he was making some headway as the hatchet cut deep gouges into the planks with each impact. Three more times Dean slammed the heavy tool into the door when a loud crack hit his ears when one of the more rotted planks gave way at the bottom of the door.

With a small hole now created, Dean gripped the edges of it and began pulling at the wood, ignoring the sting of splinters digging into his skin while he enlarged the hole and broke the door apart, piece by piece. On the other side of the door, Dean could just make out Sam trying to lend a hand to the process.

With two pairs of hands working, it wasn't long before the hole was big enough for Dean to crawl through on his hands and knees. He shimmied through the tight space and pulled himself headfirst into the cabin, grunting, growling and swearing until he was completely inside.

Dean lay on his back, catching his breath then glanced over at Sam who sat with his back against the wall equally as winded.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

Too breathless for words, Sam nodded and raised a hand to give Dean a sarcastic thumbs up.

For the moment, the cabin appeared to be quiet again, but when he got up from the floor and tried the door, the cabin began to shake from the foundation up - they were trapped inside - again.

Damn … this was getting old.

At least they had a hole they could both climb through should they have to beat a hasty retreat, but Sam really wasn't in any condition to go crawling around on the filthy floor when he already had a raging infection. Besides, they had a ghost on their hands that was practically begging to be put down and they needed to take care of it.

"Okay …" Dean turned to Sam, who looked far too pale for his liking, "I guess we missed something the last time we were here."

Sam snorted weakly, "Ya think?"

"Did you see it?"

"Yeah … Same lady from the drawings."

"You sure? I mean … it's been years since we burned those things… why didn't she show up then?"

" I dunno - maybe she didn't have enough juice to stop us last time - maybe there's only so much energy that a ghost can expend at one time and burning the drawing weakened her. But, I'm sure it was her again this time … she was cut up just like the pictures - except for one thing -"

"What?"

Sam paled even further, "She didn't have any eyes, Dean."

"Shit."

"No kidding." Sam continued, slow blinks making his eyes droop, "It was like they'd been cut out - remember what Dad said about that artist guy and what he did to the first woman he killed? He must have done the same to the nurse - he just didn't include that part in his drawings. Dad said that her body had been burned, but what if the guy kept a memento of her besides the pictures and it's still hidden around the cabin?"

"Great ..." Dean grumbled and threw up his hands in exasperation.

"We should start searching again." Sam suggested, wrapping his arm around his waist, gritting his teeth and trying to push himself away from the wall.

Dean walked over to him quickly and pushed him back gently before he could get up. At the same time, his eyes traveled down Sam's chest and landed on a slowly spreading spot of blood staining his t-shirt.

"Crap… Sammy," Dean lifted up the shirt and pulled off the bandage to inspect the new damage his brother had done to his wound. Sure enough, the stitches were snapped where they had been pulled from the skin and fresh blood was trickling down Sam's side.

"Sorry." Sam apologized.

"Don't be. S'my fault - I shouldn't have gone outside." Dean reached for a fresh dressing and pressed it onto the wound, causing Sam to emit a sharp groan.

"Not your fault either." Sam grunted back.

"Here …" Dean grabbed Sam's hand and placed it over the wound, "You sit here and keep pressure on that. I'm gonna grab the stuff to get you patched up again then I'll start looking around for what's keeping this girl here – one way or another this ghost is toast."

"How poetic, Dean." Sam sighed with a weak grin.

Dean quickly grabbed the medical supplies and stitched Sam up again, placing a clean bandage over the wound. When he was satisfied his sewing job would hold and he warned Sam to stay still or face an ass-kicking, he pushed himself up to his feet again and turned around in a circle, unsure where to look first whatever was tying the ghost to the cabin.

"Any ideas?" He asked, "We searched this place pretty thoroughly before - I'm not sure what's left."

"Actually ..." Sam sighed, looking down at the floor, and the planks of wood underneath them, "there is one place we didn't look last time ..."

Dean glared, not liking where his brother was suggesting he begin his search, "Son of a bitch!"

OOOOOOOO

_Sam was quiet which was never a good thing. It meant he was brooding and thinking too hard again and sure enough, when Dean turned his sight away from the road, he could see the furrow in his brother's brow that meant he had something on his mind._

_"What?" Dean asked, turning his eyes back to the road and the big, black truck he was following, "You still mad about Dad's little test for us?"_

_"Aren't you?" Sam snapped._

_Dean sighed, "Look ... he would have come and helped us we had been in any real danger."_

_"We _were _in real danger, Dean."_

_"It wasn't anything we couldn't handle by ourselves. If you ask me ... I think we did a pretty damn good job, don't you?"_

_Sam worked the muscles of his jaw and shook his head, "I dunno ... that's just it. What if we missed something? I mean ... we've taken out ghosts before and each time we saw what burning their remains did to them - the screaming? - the fire? There wasn't any of that back at the cabin."_

_"Maybe some ghosts just go quietly." Dean suggested._

_Sam shrugged, "Maybe." He agreed half-heartedly, as he turned his attention on the passing scenery again, "Any idea where Dad's going this time?" Sam asked wearily, making Dean grateful for a change in topic, even if his brother was still acting like a girl with PMS._

_Dean shrugged in response, "Do we ever?"_

OOOOOO

Despite the fact that the floorboards were dry as hell and half-rotted from years of disuse, it still took Dean the greater part of an hour to smash open a wide hole with the hatchet he used on the door and pry them up. And even then, he was still coming up empty.

"Dammit." Dean grumbled, wiping sweat off of his brow and looking at the hard packed dirt under the boards. He was dreading the fact that he might have to dig through the ground without a shovel. But the worst part was, he had no clue what it was exactly he was looking for.

"Need some help?" Sam asked, holding a flashlight into the hole for him. Sam's hold on the light was far from steady and he still had a glassiness in his eyes that spoke of fever, but he was just as stubborn as ever and wouldn't sit still while Dean did the work. He was half-tempted to strap Sam to the cot so he wouldn't bust open the second set of stitches he had to sew, but he needed the light - it was far too dark to see much of anything.

"Nah ... just sit tight, Sam. I got this."

Dean stooped and grabbed the edge of another plank, pulling on it with muscles stiff from the repetitive exercise. God ... he was gonna be sore for a week after this.

Feeling the plank give a little he yanked harder until the wood cracked and splintered in half. At the same time, Sam's flashlight began to flicker.

"Damn." Sam slapped the malfunctioning light, making it hard for Dean to see what he was doing, "I think the batteries are dying."

"Peachy." Dean muttered grumpily, that's just what they needed - digging in the dark - things couldn't get more perfect, he thought sarcastically.

Sam hit the flashlight one last time. It snapped back to life and he shined it back down into the hole only for it to flicker again and dim. Sam again started to assault the flashlight, but it was while the light bobbed back and forth under Sam's ministrations that Dean's eye caught something reflect off the beam of light.

"Whoa ... Sam, move the light back over there, " he directed with his index finger to the point where he had seen the silvery glint of something metallic just under the remaining intact floorboards. Suddenly, the light came back on fully and remained bright as Sam pointed the light in the direction of Dean's finger. Getting on his knees, Dean practically had to lie on his stomach to see under the floor, but there was something definitely there. He scooted closer to the edge of the hole in the floor and attempted to reach for the object he knew was there. His fingers skidded around the dirt, but whatever it was, it was just out of reach and there was barely enough room for his arm to fit between the boards and the ground.

"Crap." Dean moaned before letting loose a string of curses and pulling his arm back out. There was only one way to get at the thing.

He grabbed the hatchet again and stepped out of the hole. Aiming the blade of the tool over the wood where he approximated the object's location, lifted it high over his head and slammed it into the planks. It took several mighty whacks at the wood before it finally broke apart and he was able to reach inside the new hole he created. He could just make out the outline of the object embedded in the dirt and he had to dig around a little, but finally his finger found the bumpy edges of something round and metal. He dug deeper and soon felt glass under his touch.

With his fingernails acting as mini shovels, he was eventually successful in freeing what he discovered was a small Mason jar. Lifting it out of the hole, he heard sloshing sounds from inside the jar. He gave the jar a little shake - finding it to be filled with some kind of liquid, but it was so filthy and covered in earth that he wasn't able to see what was inside of it at first, but after a few swipes to clean it off, he wished he hadn't.

"God ..." Sam whispered leaning in a little to get a look, the flashlight's beam illuminating the contents of the jar, "Is that -"

"Yeah ..." Dean lifted the jar up closer to his face to confirm that the things floating within the fluid were indeed what he though they were, "They're eyes."

Sam shook his head, looking sick once again, "Shit ... he saved them." he breathed.

"Pickled them is more like it." Dean added, feeling gross just holding the damn thing.

A small, cool breeze fluttered through the cabin and chilled the sweat on Dean's skin. Goosebumps rising, Dean looked up just in time to see a figure appear behind his brother.

"Sam!" Jumping up, Dean lunged for the shotgun.

Sam turned at the same time in surprise, pain evident on his face as he jolted, but a second later, he held out a hand to Dean, stopping him from raising the weapon and firing, "Whoa ... wait, Dean. I don't think she wants to hurt us... look!"

Dean swallowed and fought his instinct to blast the hell out the clearly dead woman standing before them. She didn't move, just stood there, naked, bloody and blind with a hand reaching out beseechingly. Her mouth was moving, but Dean couldn't hear what she was saying past the blood rushing in his ears, but he knew the single word her lips were forming: 'please'.

"Dean ..." Sam whispered breathlessly, "The jar - "

Duh ... why didn't he think of that?

Dean dropped the gun and gripped the jar, heading quickly to the fireplace .The ghostly apparition did nothing to stop him as he stooped down and unscrewed the lid. A foul stench escaped from the jar and he held his breath against the offensive odor while he poured the majority of the liquid onto the floor until all that was left in the jar were the soggy orbs, their faded and cloudy irises glaring out through the dirty glass.

Dean grabbed the salt and poured some into the jar before tossing the contents into the fire without ceremony, watching as they began to smolder and burn. He turned just in time to see the woman smile briefly as flames surrounded her and claimed her spirit, delivering her into nothingness.

"Damn ..." Dean uttered, looking back at his brother. "You okay, Sam?"

Sam sat panting and turned his eyes on Dean, relief evident on his pasty and sweaty face, "I think we finally got it right this time." He said as his eyes rolled up in his head and he gave up on trying to stay conscious.

**Epilogue**

_**Two days later ...**_

Sam and Dean emerged from the cabin, neither one of them bothering to close the broken door behind them.

Sam's fever had finally broken that morning and Dean was more than ready to leave. In fact, he would have packed them up and taken off right after they got rid of the ghost, but Sam hadn't been in any shape of go for a hike through the woods and even now, he was still a little shaky on his feet. So, for two days, Dean kept them holed up in the demolished cabin, feeding Sam antibiotics and pain-killers until his brother was finally past the danger point.

It was a slow trudge through the woods with Sam moving slow and wincing now and then at the movement, but when the Impala finally came into view, they both exhaled a great sigh of relief as if they had both just come home - and in a way, they sorta had.

Sam refused to let Dean help him into the car, his pigheadedness a good sign that he was on the road to recovery and would be back in shape soon. For once, Dean was glad to see the eye-roll Sam gave him when he asked him if he was okay to sit in the front seat.

After packing their gear away, Dean turned the engine of the car over and headed for the road, certain that enough time had gone by since their great escape from prison that the cops wouldn't be actively searching for them anymore.

They drove through the same town where Dean had gone to get Sam the medicine he needed and passed by the big house owned by the red-headed, gun-toting doctor. He grinned a little recalling his run-in with her and said a silent word of thanks to the occupant inside. Sam fell asleep not long after that, lulled by his lingering exhaustion and the rumble of the engine, his soft snores the only sound in the car for many miles.

When he woke up about 50 miles later, Dean forced Sam to take another round of pills and drink a full bottle of water and when he was finished with the water, Sam looked out the window then back at his older sibling, "So ... do we have any idea where we're going?" he asked.

Dean glanced back at his brother and shrugged, curling his lips up into a wry grin, "Do we ever?"

**The End**


End file.
